


Something new, something old...

by naturegirlrocks



Series: Something new, something old... [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Puppies, There are four Holmes brothers, Wedding, no they are three, one sister, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturegirlrocks/pseuds/naturegirlrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And how many children do you have?"</p><p>"Four, all boys," she laughed. "Well, almost..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

It had been a quiet night for John. Those were the worst nights because they reminded him about the year that he thought Sherlock was dead.

There had been no terrors, no violin-playing, no explosions, no shots, no phone messages, no shouting, not even the familiar footsteps on the stairs outside his door when Sherlock needed to make sure that John was still breathing.

It made John very worried, and it was probably the silence that had woken him up. He pulled a jumper over his bare chest and pyjama bottoms, put his slippers on, and continued downstairs.

As he approached the sitting room door he could hear a female voice talking. It wasn't Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Donovan, or Anthea. Which could only mean a client. A female client at quarter passed eight in the morning. John smelled trouble.

He considered going back up to put some more presentable clothes on, but was caught off guard when the door opened. A tall, woman in her early sixties, with silver streaked black hair, stood in the doorway. She was very thin, but not in an unhealthy way. She was wearing a blue dress that would look lovely on the Queen, and did look even lovelier on her.

"Don't just stand there, Dr. Watson," she said with heart-shaped lips, painted in a neutral pink. "Come and give your dear mother-in-law a kiss."

"Wha..." was all that escaped John's lips before reviving a cheek-to-cheek air-kiss on both sides of his face.

He was the pulled inside the sitting room by surprisingly strong hands. Sherlock was in his chair, dressed in his pyjama and robe, sulking like a big baby.

"Oh, Shirley," said the woman, looking John over. "Your man is just as handsome as the photographs your brothers gave me."

"'Brothers'?" asked John. "As in plural? And they give you photos of me? Why? And, pardon me, ma'm, who are you?"

Sherlock snorted. It was his 'John-you-are-an-idiot'-snort.

"The phrase 'mother-in-law' would give you sufficient data for identification," Sherlock sighed before reluctantly getting to his feet and move to the side of the woman. "John, this is Clotilde Holmes, my mother. Mummy, this is Dr. John Watson, my colleague and flatmate."

"Call me Clotilde, John," she smiled happily. "We are family now after all."

"Mummy!" sighed Sherlock. "We are not together!"

"Don't you worry, sweetheart," Clotilde took John's left hand between hers as to comfort him. "He has always been a bit slow in the uptake. He'll come around in no time."

"I haven't 'come around'..." Sherlock almost shouted, "...because there us nothing to 'come around' to!"

"Shush now, Shirley," Clotilde patted John on the head. "You are making your young man upset."

"He's four years older than me!"

John recognised the signs for a full-blown fit of temper, and hurried to lead Clotilde away into the kitchen. He closed the intermittent door behind them, leaving Sherlock to collect himself.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked as he pulled out a chair for her at the table.

"Please," she smoothly sat down. "Two sugars and a dab of milk."

"Just like Sherlock," John noted as he put the kettle on.

Violent violin music was suddenly heard from the other room.

"He still turns to Liszt in his bad moods," Clotilde said fondly.

"Actually," John cleared his throat. "We are not in a relationship, other than being very good friends."

"Best friends, I'd imagine," she sighed, looking over the chemical equipment on the table. "But a mother always holds some hope for her children."

John saw this as an opportunity.

"And how many children do you have?"

"Four, all boys," she laughed. "Well, almost..."

John was about to ask what she meant by that, but was interrupted by the music stopping, and Sherlock entering the kitchen. He was holding the violin and the bow in a firm grip in each hand.

"I'm ready now, Mummy," he said as if standing in front of a execution squad. "Tell me why you are here."

Clotilde nodded.

"Your brother is getting married in three days..."

"My sister, Mummy," Sherlock corrected calmly. "Jennie is my sister."

"...and she wants you to be her maid of honour."

John dropped the kettle in the sink.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you..." John took a breath. "Have you been in any kind of relationship after him?"
> 
> "Not until you," Sherlock didn't turn around.

"You don't have to feel embarrassed for my sake," said John. "My sister was married to a woman, you know that."

Sherlock's mother had been picked up by one of Mycroft's cars. She had taken Mrs. Hudson with her, for what she called 'shopping-advise', but clearly was an excuse to pry further into Sherlock's life with John.

Sherlock was looking over the best black tie suit in his wardrobe. John was leaning in the doorway, imagining Sherlock wearing it. Clotilde had been right in some aspects about him and Sherlock, there was some unresolved attraction between them. John had only been able to come to terms with this after Sherlock's yearlong supposed death, and the slightly traumatic resurrection three month ago.

"I'm very aware of this fact," Sherlock gave him a short glare before returning to the inspection of his suit. "Though your sister isn't your ten year older brother who is about to have a sexchange, and is now marrying your ex-lover from university."

"I guess not," John shifted. "But Harry did hit on several of my girlfriends back then."

"There were several of them?" inquired Sherlock.

"We are getting away from the subject," he cleared his throat. "Was this why you never mentioned him, I mean 'her'?"

Sherlock was quiet.

"And the forth of you? The youngest one?"

"My youngest brother has obtained a job deep within the government, that forces us to keep him a secret to outsiders."

"Well," smiled John. "According to your mother I'm part of the family now."

"Quite," Sherlock had moved on to inspect his dress shoes. "The reason for me not mentioning my now sister, isn't because I'm ashamed of her, but because..."

Sherlock suddenly sat down on his bed, his fancy shoes cradled tightly in his arms. John felt the distress in his friend and went to sit down beside him.

"...I might still... harbour some... feelings for her fiancé."

John hadn't heard Sherlock be this emotional since the day the man had faked his suicide. He didn't know what to do, but placed an arm around Sherlock just in case. Sherlock leaned into him.

"Where you together long?" John asked after a moment.

"About two and a half years," Sherlock's voice seemed to come from far within a memory. "Victor graduated two years before me because I took on more courses. He choose a job in America over waiting for me to graduate. I was quite lost to my research at the time."

"I can imagine that," laughed John, doing just that.

"We exchanged letters and phone calls for a few months, but it was already over... I was neglecting to answer him... I was..."

They both knew what Sherlock couldn't say out loud. That he had been heavily addicted to cocaine at the time.

"You were researching," John nodded, giving Sherlock a one-armed hug so sympathise. "I understand."

"I went to America as well, when I graduated," Sherlock seemed to have regained most of his composure, but didn't reject John's arm. "Mycroft's CIA contacts managed to get me into some of their lectures on organised crime. That's how I eventually met up with Mrs. Hudson. Her husband was one of the suspects in an ongoing case at the time."

"What about Victor?"

"We met up," Sherlock shrugged, got to his feet, and placed the shoes on top of his suitcase. "We said a proper good bye. He got transferred back to England, to my then-brother's company in fact. When I got back home... they were together."

They were quiet for a moment. Sherlock was looking out his window. John was looking at his own hands.

"Have you..." John took a breath. "Have you been in any kind of relationship after him?"

"Not until you," Sherlock didn't turn around.

The words touched John more than he wanted to admit, and they left a lump in his chest.

"Thank you for telling me," said John eventually.

"Flatmates should know the worst about each other," answered Sherlock, now turning and giving John half a smile.

"Oh," John shook his head. "You being neglecting to the point of driving people away isn't what I find to be the worst about you."

He got up from the bed and moved towards the kitchen.

"What is?"

Sherlock's voice was almost to quiet to hear.

John stopped and thought for a moment.

"Actually, it's the same thing that I think is the best thing about you," John winked and left.


	3. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John!" he shouted. "We are sleeping together!"

The next day they were sitting in a black Land Rover, a loan from Mycroft, heading east through Surrey, towards Brookwood. John was in the passenger seat, looking out on the passing landscape.

The wedding, John had learned, had been rushed forward because of the bride's operation. A spot had opened up at the surgery, and the couple was determined to marry pre-op.

"Quite romantic," noted John.

"I guess," Sherlock was concentrating on the curvy road.

"Is your younger brother coming?"

"If the country can spare him."

John was excited when they pulled up in front of a large old-fashioned cottage. Three cars were already cramped into the parkway, he recognised one of them as Mycroft's regular ride.

"You grew up here?" asked John, the beauty of the place was a little too fairy tale for Sherlock.

"I grew up in boarding-schools," said Sherlock closing the car door. "Bring the bags."

John gave a huff as Sherlock hurried past him into the house. He sighed and resigned himself to unload their bags, presents, and some food they brought for the party.

"Can I help you with that, Captain?" a smooth voice said from behind him.

John turned to see a somewhat familiar face, but was not able to place it.

"I'm sorry, I..." he began.

"We were never formally introduced," said the tall, blond, and muscular, man. "A few years back, in Afghanistan, I was accidentally caught in an air-raid. I got under a exploding window."

"I remember now," John frowned. "I pulled you out, stitched you up, and the next thing you were gone. No one ever saw you again."

"Well, here I am," he held out his hand. "Bond, James Bond."

"John Watson," they shook hands. "Friend of bride or groom?"

"Neither," Bond took the two suitcases from the boot of the car. "I'm here as a bodyguard."

"Mycroft?"

"No."

"So the youngest brother," John smirked. "The one I'm not allowed to ask questions about."

"He wouldn't tell you anything anyway," James headed the way to inside the house. "I didn't even know he had a family until about three hours ago, and I've known him for well over a year."

"Up until yesterday I thought Sherlock only had one brother," John shook his head. "Typical Holmes behaviour."

They stopped at the sound of arguing voices.

"Mummy!" Sherlock irritated voice could be heard a long way. "We are not together!"

"You still have to share a room," Clotilde's firm voice said in response. "Freddie and his young man are staying together, so why can't you?"

"He is not my 'young man'," another voice called out. "He is twelve years older than me, and we are not together either!"

John exchanged a look with an amused James. By the look of him John guessed that the last statement was taken as a challenge.

"Really," Mycroft's cold voice cut in. "Mummy is just trying to make room for everyone."

"Says he who doesn't have to share with anyone!" spat Sherlock.

"Freddie and Shirley can share a room," said Clotilde gleefully. "Just like when they were boys. And then your young men can..."

"I'm not letting John anywhere near that person!" shouted Sherlock. "He is oversexed, alcoholic, addicted to painkillers, and also a ruthless killer with PTSD-denial!"

"Stop deducing him!" shouted the voice that belonged to the youngest one, Freddie.

John glanced to James, there were some telltale signs to support some of Sherlock's words. Though James just continued smiling.

"They do like to argue," another voice cut in from behind them.

John turned to see a man that looked like he stepped out from a fashion spread of a fancy magazine. Late thirties, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and a stubble that bordered to a short beard.

"Victor Trevor," said the man shaking John's hand, and then turning to James. "Nice to meet you."

"The groom himself."

"None other," the man smiled with perfect teeth. "Thank you for coming."

"Where's the bride?" asked James, looking behind Victor.

"I sent her to have some spa-treatments done with some friends from her group therapy," said Victor, looking a bit concerned. "The operation is the day after the ceremony, and she is getting a bit stressed out. But..." he gave a humorous smile and a shrug, "…she is also my boss, so what more can I do?"

They were suddenly interrupted by Sherlock striding into the room in a fit of pure Holmesian fury.

"John!" he shouted. "We are sleeping together!"

"Congratulations," said Victor with a smirk.

Sherlock stopped dead, his face pale and eyes starring. James broke the silence by turning to a young, bit geeky looking, man with glasses that had followed Sherlock into the room.

"Why can't you make such announcements as well?"

"Because I think before I speak," said the young man that was probably Freddie.

John took pity on Sherlock, who now seemed so small, confused, and, incredibly enough, at loss for words. It was a moment's decision, but he never regretted making it.

"It's fine, love," he said, placing a hand on the small of Sherlock's back. "It's fine. Why don't you show me the room?"

Sherlock gave him a thankful smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't made any research on this, I only write it as it comes to me. Any technicalities about sex-change or the workings of Brittish marriage laws are guesswork (or AU) <3


	4. Chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why must I be the only one who suffer?"

John and Sherlock's room looked to John to be an ordinary second floor guest room. That was until John noted some lines and numbers in pencil written on the green leaf pattern wallpaper.

"Is this you growing up?" he asked, touching the marks. "You were my hight at fourteen."

"I had a growth-spurt," said Sherlock sitting down on the edge of the bed. "It was quite painful."

"I'm sure it was."

John looked up at the wall at the next mark. It was about an inch under Sherlock's present length, and noted at fifteen years. He cringed a little, imagining the pain of young limbs being stretched out.

"Actually," John placed their bags on the bed behind Sherlock and began unpacking his own. "Some things are making more sense about you now."

"How come?" Sherlock seemed genially interested.

"You would have been in to much pain from growing to play, so you spent your time reading and doing experiments."

"John Watson, are you trying to deduce me?" Sherlock smirked.

"Maybe, How am I doing?"

"You are getting there," Sherlock turned to look at the window. "Car coming up the driveway, it blocking us in. There goes our quick escape. We have to cross the large field now to get away."

"Are we escaping?" frowned John, walking over to the window to see the new arrivals.

"It's a Holmes family affair, there must always be a plan of escape."

John smiled. He looked down at the expensive grey BMW. Three women, one carrying a very fat bulldog, stepped out of the car. The woman from the passenger-seat was quite taller than the other two, John guessed that it was the bride.

"Fuck," he said as he recognised the third woman by the driving seat door. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?" Sherlock was unpacking his suit, inspecting how it had survived the journey.

"Who's conducting the service?"

"A magistrate, a friend from Jennie's group therapy."

"It wouldn't be Harriet Watson? The first officially lesbian magistrate in Britain?"

"Name rings a bell," Sherlock leered.

"Bastard."

"Why must I be the only one who suffers?"

John sighed, and turned back to the window. Sherlock joined him by his side.

"That must be Harry's new girlfriend, the one with the dog."

"I hope you brought your medical kit with you," said Sherlock, turning back to his luggage.

"You know I have," John sighed. "Why?"

"That animal is heavily pregnant and will be needing a cesarian before we leave this place."

"Great," John knew Sherlock wasn't likely to be wrong. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime we need to go say hello to my sister, and yours."


	5. Chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John smiled and leaned slightly toward his friend.

The dog was Gladys, three years old. Harry's new girlfriend, and Gladys' owner, was named Pamela, twenty years old.

"Robbing the cradle, are we?" asked John his big sister.

"Sucking cock, are we?" countered Harry.

John wasn't really offended. But he was not keen to develop on the subject of his and Sherlock's relationship before even such a thing existed. He left her to pick James apart, poor bastard, and turned to examine the dog instead.

"I was planning to stay at home with her," explained Pamela, patting her beloved pet over the large head. "I have a time booked for a cesarian after the weekend. But Harry said you would be here if anything serious happened."

She looked at him with worship in her young eyes, and John couldn't help but to blush a little. The dog, despite the fact of being a dog, seemed to almost purr at his touch.

"I'm not a veterinarian," John felt the heavy breathing dog's stomach. "But I think they are three puppies in there."

Pamela gave a little gleeful cheer and Gladys seemed very cheered by the sound of her happiness, since the breathing increased rapidly.

"John," Sherlock called him. "Come meet Jennie."

Sherlock's to-be-sister was in her mid-forties, had strong hands, perfectly sized silicone breasts, and a heart-shaped mouth rivalling her brother's. Her basic features were masculine, but her grace, mannerism and mindset were defiantly female. John liked her immediately.

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor Watson," she said in a soft voice. "Harry has told me so much about you."

"Call me John," John smiled. "I hope she has put me in a good light."

"Good enough for me to approve you together with my brother," she winked as Sherlock rolled his eyes. "But I worry a bit over Mr. Bond over there."

John looked over to where James was actually holding his ground very well against Harry. Alcoholists unite, he thought.

"He seems far more dangerous than he lets on. Though Frederick seems to adore him."

They looked to Freddie. He and Mycroft were whispering sweet national secrets in each other ears in the corner.

"Excuse me for a moment," smiled Jennie and gently touched John's arm with her well-manicured hand. "I just need to talk to Victor for a moment."

"Totally besotted, I would say," huffed Sherlock, still focusing in his younger brother. "And it seems to go both ways since the man is a obviously highly skilled field agent, and would never be assigned such a simple task to bodyguard for a family wedding."

"So he must have volunteered then," said John. "A bit sweet."

"Humph," Sherlock took a step closer to John so their arms touched.

John smiled and leaned slightly toward his friend.

"Dinner is served," announced Clotilde coming in from the kitchen. "Freddie, Mybear, stop talking about work this instant!"

"Sorry, Mummy," said Mycroft, giving John a look, challenging him to make fun of his mother's nickname for him.

John held out for two seconds before giggling into Sherlock's sleeve.


	6. Chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I'm not up to your level of skill yet, Mr Bond."
> 
> "Let's hope you never are," James raised his glass.

"So Sherlock," said Victor. "I've been reading about you a lot lately. Both in the papers and on John's blog."

"That sounds tedious."

Sherlock had eaten about a third of his meal on his mother's and John's insistence, he was now concentrated on not looking too bored. John was expecting him to go into a great sulk at any moment.

"I didn't believe anything they wrote about you, by the way," continued Victor giving Sherlock an amused smile.

"Those reporters were horrid," huffed Clotilde, stabbing a potato. "I still say we should sue them all for slander."

"I'm taking care of it, Mummy," said Mycroft calmly. "Don't worry."

"None of them will ever get credit again," said Freddie taking a sip from his water glass. "And they are all being audited."

"You are so vicious," grinned James.

"Though," Victor continued with a glare at Sherlock. "It wasn't very nice of you to pretend to be dead. We were in quite a state over you."

"John was a horrible mess," noted Harry.

John gave her a angry look. He had already had his time with Sherlock on the subject, and was quite happy now to let things be bygone.

"And yet none of you came to my funeral," Sherlock said, meeting Victor's eye. "Jennie would have looked stunning in her black mourning dress. She wore it well when father died."

"We were in Hong Kong," interrupted Jennie with a teary voice, "You know this. We sent flowers. And we visited the grave as soon as we got back," she took a deep breath, and blew her nose in the napkin. "Damn hormones..."

"I'm not mad at you," Sherlock reached out over the table and touched her hand.

John noted that Mycroft and Freddie were ignoring the emotional display in a true Holmes fashion. He remembered Sherlock's funeral being full of flowers, but he had been too distraught to read any of the cards.

"So what did you do while you were away?" asked Victor as they settled down. "Did you have a nice holiday?"

"I killed three men, one woman, and a rabid dog. I got shoot twice, stabbed trice, tortured once. I got beaten up fifteen times, where of six was with sexual intent. I overdosed on illegal substance four times. I helped put thirty-nine very bad people in prison, brought down a worldwide criminal network, and won fifty thousand dollars by counting cards in a illegal Russian casino. It was quite a busy year."

John stared at Sherlock, he had only known about half of that, and certainly not the extent of the injuries. And Sherlock had done all this to save John's life, well, his, Lesteade's, and Mrs. Hudson's lives, but mostly his.

"Oh!" said Sherlock in pleasant surprise when John suddenly embraced him.

"That took you a year?" asked James with a laugh. "Sound like a week in my life."

Sherlock smiled, patting John's back awkwardly.

"Well, I'm not up to your level of skill yet, Mr Bond."

"Let's hope you never are," James raised his glass.

Mycroft and Freddie had stopped eating, there must have been something in Sherlock's story that was new to them as well. Jennie was crying softly, Victor looked very pale, and Harry and Pamela looked absolutely terrified.

"Dessert, I think," said Clotilde cheerfully. "Let's have it in the parlour where we can go over some of the wedding details. Would someone mind giving a hand with the plates?"

Everybody but Sherlock and John got to their feet to help. John didn't want to let go of Sherlock just yet, so he didn't. They sat at the table, embracing, a few minutes more before moving to the parlour.


	7. Chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not letting you do this to yourself again," whispered John. "Ever."

"I'm going to give you one of the puppies," said Pamela hugging John tightly to her. "You two deserve a baby to look after."

He and Sherlock were just about to turn in for the night, and she had stopped them on the way to their room.

John blushed out a 'thank you', while Sherlock gave the fat dog in Harry's arms a contemplating look.

"You are not to be experimenting on the dog," said John when they had closed the door behind them.

"Not even sociological experiments?" Sherlock asked carefully.

"Well..." John thought about it for a moment. "As long as it doesn't hurt the dog."

"I could teach it to tell different stages of body decomposition apart," mused Sherlock.

"Fine, but then you have to promise to clean up after yourselves," John took off his jacket. "Now strip!"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Are you not taking this a bit too fast?"

"Sherlock, I thought you were dead for over a year, for three months I have tried to give you a physical, and you have avoided me every time, saying that Mycroft sent you to the hospital. But after your little speech earlier I'm not taking no for an answer anymore. I want to see for myself!"

"I..."

"Sherlock, you said you had been sexually assaulted six times!"

"I made it sound worse than it was," Sherlock shrugged as he began undressing. "It was..." he took a breath, "...basically consensual, for the sake of my cover at the time."

"Sherlock!" John felt slightly nauseous at the thought of what that cover had been.

"The doctors said I was fine. Anyway, Victor irritated me, calling it a 'holiday'."

"Maybe so." John placed his medical bag on the bed. "But it still happened."

"I'm fine, John," he sat down on the bed to remove his socks. "I know I'm fine."

"Please," John placed his hand under Sherlock's chin and forced the man to look at him. "If we are having a relationship, which I think we are, treat your body as you would treat mine."

Sherlock looked at him for several moments, his great mind working behind his eyes. John hoped that Sherlock wouldn't ask the same thing in return. He was damned if he was going to treat his body like Sherlock treated his. They were sticking to John's regime, thank you very much.

"Yes, John," said Sherlock softly. "I will do that."

"Good," John nodded. "Now let's see what we got to work with."

Sherlock was down to his black designer underpants, and complied easily to ever which way John bended him.

It wasn't as bad as he had feared. The two bullets had merely graced Sherlock's skin, and the stab wounds were all to the flesh, it was an evidence of Sherlock's good fighting skills. There was a series mean scars from burns on his back and shoulders from where he had been electrocuted, but they seemed to have been well treated as well. 

Old and new needle marks where on his left arm. John rubbed a careful finger over them.

"I'm not letting you do this to yourself again," whispered John. "Ever."

"I know," whispered Sherlock back, leaning his head on John's shoulder. Their hands intertwined.

There was a sudden muffled noise through the wall from the next room, like something scraping against the wall.

"James is trying to make a move on Freddie." noted Sherlock.

Another similar noise followed, John frowned at the thought of the frail, nerdy, young man against the highly trained agent. They listened for a few seconds more.

"James is sleeping on the sofa in the parlour tonight."

John smiled as he heard soft footsteps passing by their door.

"We should sleep as well," said John getting up to undress as well.

He blushed as Sherlock watched him undress down to underwear. The detective's eyes were drawn to the large scar on John's shoulder, it was worse than all Sherlock's put together.

"Let's take it slow." said John pulling away up the covers of the bed. "You can sleep on my arm, if you want to."

"I would want that very much."

They lay still for a moment, sharing each other's body heat. Then John asked one of the other questions that had been bothering him.

"Fifty thousand dollars?"

"I have left it all to you in my will," murmured Sherlock.

They rested very well that night, intertwined in each other. Sherlock was even asleep at long periods of the time.


	8. Chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn't think bulldogs could have natural births," said James.

The next day Sherlock's siblings took him out for a ride, a family moment they said. Sherlock had protested loudly, even pleaded to John to save him, but they where three Holmeses against one. John was certain that Sherlock was suffering at the moment, but there was nothing he could to do about it but to offer comfort when they got back.

Victor had to go to the office for a meeting, and Harry and Pamela taken Clotilde out shopping. John was left in the company of James and Gladys. The dog was snoring.

After a bit of general conversation they had settled down for playing poker over their loose change.

"Things are moving forward with Sherlock then," noted James, pushing a 50p to the pot.

"We had a talk," John contemplated over his two pairs in fives and tens. "Thankfully, he made it sound worse than it was yesterday."

"Q told me that Sherlock and Victor were together at university."

John knew that the 'Q' stood for quartermaster, but had been advised not to ask anything about it, so he didn't.

"I think Victor is still a little sensitive over the break up," said John. "Sherlock isn't the easiest man to handle."

"I've noticed," James bought a card. "Q isn't a smooth ball of yarn either."

"He didn't let you play bodyguard today."

"No, but he'll come around."

"How do you know?"

"I'm more stubborn than him, and I want him."

They played a few more rounds, talking about some of the cases James had read on John's blog.

"I know it's a bit awkward to ask..." said John as he slowly dealt a new round. "...I mean with this wedding, my sister's sexuality, and my own situation with Sherlock, and all..."

"But...?" James looked at his cards.

"Does it bother you? That Freddie is a man?"

"In my line of work you have to stay open for every eventuality," said James, exchanging two cards. "You can't let a small thing like gender stand in your way, or you might die."

"Sounds precarious."

"It is, but it's how I have survived so far. Does it bother you? Your attraction to Sherlock?"

"It used to, but not anymore. Not since he died and came back."

John had lost two pounds forty-three on the next three rounds, when they got interrupted by Gladys suddenly whimpering in pain.

"I think she is in labour," frowned John, sitting down on the floor. "According to what Pamela said, this is too early. Though," he sighed. "Sherlock did predict it yesterday.

"I didn't think bulldogs could have natural births," said James.

"They can't," John felt the dog's stomach. "Too small hips, too big heads."

"What do we do?" James scratched Gladys' behind the ears to calm her down.

"I'm an army doctor," noted John getting to his feet. "Not many puppies born in the army. I'll get my bag. Call Pamela, tell her what's happening, and ask for her permission for a emergency cesarean."

After collecting his medical bag he came back to see that James had set up a small operation area on the coffee table.

"Pamela gave me the number to her vet," he said, holding up his phone. "Doctor Stevensen, he said he can help guide you over the phone. I'll put you on speaker."

"Hello?" said a clear voice from the phone. "Doctor Watson?"

"I'm here. Hello!"

"Have you done this kind of thing before?" asked Stevensen.

"I've taken bullets and shrapnel out of men's guts," John looked down at his small patient, he knew it wasn't the same.

He was pulling on a pair if latex gloves as James carefully lifted Gladys up on the table. This was going to be an interesting experience.


	9. Chapter nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But it was nothing like delivering puppies."
> 
> "My life is an never-ending adventure."

John and Pamela arrived back from the local vet in time for a late heated supper. The surgery had gone well, and John had delivered three healthy puppies, two females and a male.

When Pamela got back they had decided that the overnight aftercare was better placed in a professional's hands, and driven Gladys, and her little ones, to the closest vet.

She had called John a hero four times, and given him and James copious hugs, until Harry managed to calm her down.

Sherlock and his siblings had returned while John was away. The detective had been sulking in their room for over two hours. John went up to see him while his food was reheated. Mycroft gave him a look, but John ignored it.

"Don't be so sad, Sherlock," said John in a joking manner to lift the spirit of the man curled on the bed. "In eight weeks you will be getting a puppy."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Was it that bad?" asked John, sitting down next to him on the bed.

Sherlock moved to curl up in John's arms like a great cat, John shifted to accommodate him.

"That bad," nodded John and ran his fingers through the dark locks under his hands.

It didn't escape John's notice that this was quite intimate, maybe more intimate than they had ever been.

"Did they make you talk about your feelings?"

Affirmative grunt.

"I bet the Mybear was thrilled about that."

Light chuckle.

"What did it all boil down to then?" John could almost guess that it was about him in some way, but wanted to hear it from Sherlock.

"Your feelings, and my feelings about you."

"I appreciate their gesture," sighed John, slowly scratching Sherlock's scalp. "But I prefer to handle these things myself,"

"That's what I said," noted Sherlock, snuggling pleasantly in John's lap. "Then I turned it round on Freddie. Jennie made him talk about James for over an hour. That was quite entertaining. Plus, he and Mycroft had a hell of a time keeping up the secrets act as Jennie pressed on."

"I can imagine," chuckled John.

"But it was nothing like delivering puppies."

"My life is an never-ending adventure."

A light knock on the door and Clotilde's soft voice told that John's food was ready if he wanted it.

"You hungry?" John asked, smiling down at Sherlock.

"I could watch you eat," smiled Sherlock back, sulk obviously over.

"I'll let you eat from my plate. Come on," said John pulling them to their feet.


	10. Chapter ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I heard you are quite good at giving shots yourself," said Harry.

They descended to the dining room. Pamela was already eating, though she was busy looking at puppy-pictures on her camera phone. Harry and James were also at the table. They were talking nonsense about a TV-show over a, hopefully, nonalcoholic drink.

John was thankful over that James was the kind of alcoholic that didn't encourage others to drink, and also was the kind of person who was able to say 'no' and really mean it.

John was carving up his food in several eatable pieces before eating, which made it easier for Sherlock to steal from his plate, when Victor entered the room. Sherlock tensed a little. Victor cleared his throat.

"Sherlock," he said, looking remorseful. "I'm sorry that I upset you yesterday. I hope there is no bad feelings between us..." he paused "...at least not on this subject."

"It's all fine," Sherlock gave him a polite smile. "Let's talk no more about it. And Jennie, you can to stop eavesdropping now."

"Sorry," Jennie came from of the kitchen with a typical Mycroft-smile on her pink lips, which meant she wasn't sorry at all.

She gave Victor a kiss, he put an arm around her waist. It was the first time John had seen them like that, like a bride-and-groom-to-be. He felt a small sting of jealousy in his gut, and glanced to Sherlock. The detective was ignoring the room at large.

"Sherlock," said Jennie in a firm voice. "Don't forget you have to help me with my shots tonight. It's the night before the wedding, and Victor is not allowed to see me."

"Can't I send John to do it?" whined Sherlock. "He's great at giving shots. He is a doctor you know."

"I heard you are quite good at giving shots yourself," said Harry.

John froze. His first thought went to protecting Sherlock, his second to the glass in his sister's hand. James shook his head, there was no alcohol involved. That fact made the insult even worse, and John was just about to lash out in her, when he was interrupted by Freddie entering the room.

"Doub-... I mean, James," he said. "Can you come and take a look on something on the computer...? What's going on?

"Nothing," Sherlock got to his feet. "I'm just going out for a walk."

"I'll come with you," John gave his sister a bad look.

Harry took a calm sip out of her glass, Pamela shifted nervously.


	11. Chapter eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's nothing," Sherlock shrugged.
> 
> "It's everything," said John and kissed Sherlock's temple.

They were crossing the field that Sherlock had described earlier as their only escape. John doubted that they were really running away, but for a moment it wouldn't hurt to pretend.

"Do you think Freddie was making his move on James back there?" asked John trying lighten up the mood.

"No," Sherlock kept walking, looking straight forward. "Freddie almost called James by his code name, which means he was in work-mode. Probably some field tactic in one of his reports that he needed advice on."

"Code name?" John took a breath.

"Double- something. 'Double-oh', probably."

"What does that mean?" John almost tripped over a tuft of grass, but Sherlock caught his arm before he fell.

"Careful," the tall man didn't let go as they continued walking. "It means that Mr. Bond might be the second most dangerous man you ever met."

"Are you implying Moriarty or yourself in that statement?"

Sherlock actually gave John a fond smile at that, hooked their arms together, and pulled him closer to his side.

"Come on," he said, spirits obviously lifted. "I'll show you my favourite hiding place as a child."

John was led to the edge of a gathering of trees. There were traces of an old stone cottage there under the vegetation, abandoned for decades, maybe even longer.

Taking John further into the ruins, pushing away some ferns and branches, Sherlock approached an old fireplace. John smiled at the miniature room the hearth created. A skinny child with a book, a flashlight, and a blanket, could spend hours sitting in there, safely protected from wind, rain and curious looks.

Thinking back at the pencil-marks of rapid growth on the wall. John guessed that this place would have become quite uncomfortable in Sherlock's teens. This really was a place of young childhood, he felt honoured to have gotten to see it.

"Cosy," noted John, sitting down on the old stone. "I had a pillow fortress when I was little, though Harry kept stealing my pillows."

"Pillow fortress?" asked Sherlock, taking a seat beside him.

"I'll teach you to build one when we get back to Baker Street."

Sherlock nodded. They leaned comfortably against each other.

"Thank you for showing me this," John took Sherlock's hand.

"It's nothing," Sherlock shrugged.

"It's everything," said John and kissed Sherlock's temple.

Sherlock looked surprised for a moment, but then leaned in to capture John's lips with his own. John welcomed him, letting their tongues intertwine in their first real kiss.

They were quite comfortable like that for about an hour, exchanging kisses, childhood memories, touches, and lingering looks.

It was only the slowly creeping dusk that finally made them return to the house. Jennie needed her shots, and there was a wedding to attend the next day after all.


	12. Chapter twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have seen many things that has scared me beyond my wits, but Sherlock has never been one of them."

John stood outside Jennie's bedroom as Sherlock administrated the shots. It seemed to be a private sibling moment between the two of them, because it had already been over ten minutes. Victor was there as well, waiting to say goodnight to his bride-to-be through the closed door.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" asked John to make conversation.

"Very," Victor smiled his posterboy smile. "Though I'm more nervous about the operation."

"I'm sure it will be all right. She seems very healthy."

"She is."

John shifted a little. Victor kept looking at him.

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

"What?"

"They question everybody else keeps asking me," Victor leaned back against the wall. "Why I, a gay man, is marrying someone who wants to be a woman, and who also happens to be my ten years older boss."

"I figured it was your own business," said John. "Sherlock would have told me if you had ill intentions, or was planning to use her for your career."

"Sherlock would defiantly do that," Victor smiled fondly.

"Why did the two of you break up?" John had hesitated to ask but decided to do so anyway. "I know you were offered a job in America, and that he was a drug addict, but was it something more?"

"Isn't that enough?" Victor sighed and looked at John with sad eyes. "To be honest..." he paused "...I felt that Sherlock was too dangerous for me... He was always running around looking for mysteries to solve, or doing strange experiments, or getting himself beat up because he had insulted someone."

"He still does that," John smiled fondly.

"He scared me," said Victor. "He still does. But I can see that you don't feel that way."

"I have seen many things that has scared me beyond my wits, but Sherlock has never been one of them."

"I can see why he likes you."

John smiled again. He hadn't really been jealous of Victor for have gotten to Sherlock's heart before him, but he still felt proud to be able to hold on where Victor had let go. He felt even more secure with Sherlock now.

"Have you finished your little gossip?" Sherlock came out of the room. "Come along John, lets leave the lovebirds to their door whispering."

John was roughly tugged by his hand towards their room. Sherlock didn't enter the room though. He stood still for just a moment outside the door, then he sighed, and continued to walk downstairs to the parlour.

"Freddie is letting James share his bed tonight," said Sherlock, seating them down on the large sofa in front of the television. "I don't feel like listening to that through the wall."

"No..." John settled down to snuggle to Sherlock's side, lazily looking through the channels before settling on a news program. "I guess that would be a bit awkward."

"Most," Sherlock leaned his cheek on top of John's head. "Thank you, by the way."

"What for?" John let their fingers intertwine on his lap.

"For not being scared of me."

John laughed

"I'm scared of some of the things you do, but never of you."

They sat still like that, enjoying each other's company, watching the news end and a period drama begin. Sherlock began commenting on that the wardrobe was a decade off in fashion, and that the protagonist was an idiot. John was half asleep with a smile on his lips.

"Are you still up?"

Clotilde's voice cut through the commentary. She was by the door, dressed in a long white silk robe. She was smiling fondly at them.

"We are watching a movie, mother," said Sherlock.

"I didn't mean to disturb," she said. "I was just visiting the bathroom, and heard your voice. It reminded me of when you were a little..." She paused, looked to John, and then back to Sherlock. "I'm glad you are not just talking to yourself anymore, sweetheart."

Giving them a final smile, she left to go back to her bedroom. John glanced to Sherlock, the genius looked a bit lost. The movie went on for a minute without being deducted.

"Tell me about that guy," said John, gesturing to a man on the telly wearing a wig. "Him with the really bad accent."

Sherlock gave his hand a small squeeze, and started up the commentary again. The low rumble of Sherlock's voice took him through the rest of the movie, and a quarter of the following police series before he fell asleep. Sherlock had already told him who the murderer was anyway.


	13. Chapter thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is it safe to go inside the parlour yet?" said Harry's irritated voice. "Or are they still shagging on the sofa?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I overused of the word 'cock' in this chapter...

John woke up between Sherlock's legs, his head resting on the the man's chest. He listened to the steady beat of the heart under his ear, his medical knowledge told him it was a healthy heart, and that Sherlock was awake.

"Good morning, John."

"Good morning," he moved so that he could look up at Sherlock's face. "Have you slept?"

"Between the distraction of your current position, my younger brother trying to muffle his orgasms, Mycroft chattering on the phone to Beijing, and Jennie's nervous bladder, I have slept in all about three hours. It's quite sufficient."

"I'm distracting?" smirked John, turning slightly, the pressure of his belly on Sherlock's groin.

"That's the only thing you picked up on?"

"I was distracted by my position," John leered. "How did I get into it?"

"I put you there," Sherlock was actually blushing.

Before John had time to respond to that, they were interrupted by a long ring on the doorbell. The sound seemed to trigger some kind of starter, because within a moment everything seemed to be in motion.

"Is it the flowers or the caterers?" called Jennie from upstairs.

"Flowers!" called Clotilde back.

"I need help with my hair!"

"Coming sweetheart!" Clotilde hurried up the stairs. "Mycroft! Get the flowers!"

"Is it safe to go inside the parlour yet?" said Harry's irritated voice. "Or are they still shagging on the sofa?"

"We were not near the sofa!" huffed Freddie from the kitchen.

"We were not shagging!" John pushed himself off Sherlock.

The last thing he wanted to be accused of was having intercourse with Sherlock on his self-appointed mother-in-law's sofa.

"Shagging, snuggling, sucking cock..." Harry entered the room and took hold of the television remote. "I don't care. I want to watch the morning show."

"We are not sucking cock!" John was close to hysteria.

"Who is sucking cock?" asked James, smoothly entering the room looking for the world like he hadn't spent the night ravaging a young man.

"No one is sucking cock," John his his face in his hands.

"Anymore," said Sherlock giving James an assertive look.

James grinned, and gave Sherlock almost a flirtatious wink.

Mycroft suddenly stomped into the room, followed by Pamela, both were carrying each a big bouquet of flowers.

"If you don't stop saying 'cock' this instance, I'll send you all to take Jennie's appointment tomorrow," threatened Mycroft.

"Haven't sucked a cock in my life," said Harry, probably feeling quite safe from the issued threat.

"Me neither," said Sherlock nonchalantly, not moving from his spread legged position on the sofa.

He gave John a look that said he didn't mind an experiment. John chocked on his own breath, James had to pat him on the back.

"I think I hear Q calling," smirked James.

"No so fast, Mr Bond," Mycroft dropped his batch of flowers on Sherlock's lap. "You need to go to the train station to pick up Victor's father and sister."

"What about your driver?"

"He is setting up the tent out back," Mycroft picked a flower petal of his suit. "You can change tasks with him if you like."

"This is abuse of government resources," said James. "I might put in a report."

"Put it on my desk," quipped Mycroft. "But you should know that I don't accept 'sexually harassing my quartermaster and your little brother' as a viable excuse for not doing a simple transport."

"Burn," giggled Pamela.

Mycroft looked a little displeased that he had spoken about work-related things in front of civilians, but stood his ground. James rolled his eyes and smiled good-naturally. Sherlock sneezed. John took care of the flowers.


	14. Chapter fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Smile Shirley!" called Clotilde. "Give your young man a kiss."
> 
> "Mummy!" complained Sherlock.

John was checking himself over in the mirror. He wasn't used to wearing suits, last time had been when he had to go to court for about a year ago, when he had defended the memory of Sherlock Holmes from a bunch of idiots, and had managed to get arrested in the process. He grid his teeth over the memory. The idiots were eating their words now...

"You look good," said Sherlock, untying John's half windsor and retying it in a full.

"You would know, you picked it out," John raised his chin to let the detective correct his collar as well. "You look gorgeous, by the way. Try not to outshine the bride."

"Oh," smiled Sherlock, making sure his own reflection was decent. "I believe our dear mister Bond will do that quite well without my help."

John laughed. They had seen James in his fitted black suit earlier. Jennie had her work cut out for her, so had the rest of the wedding party. Sherlock was a very good second though.

"What are your duties at the ceremony?" asked John giving them both a last once over.

"I'm giving her away. Otherwise emotional support mostly," Sherlock shrugged. "And I get to hold the flowers."

They had both smirked at the mention of emotional support.

"Ready?" asked John.

"After you," Sherlock opened the door.

John offered Sherlock his arm going down the stairs, the taller man accepted with a raised eyebrow and a hidden smile. They were greeted with several cameras flashing.

"Smile Shirley!" called Clotilde. "Give your young man a kiss."

"Mummy!" complained Sherlock.

"I'm afraid you got it wrong," said John letting his hands go around Sherlock's waist. "I'm not his young man, he is mine."

He gave Sherlock a quick kiss on the cheek, that evolved to a more lingering kiss on the second try. More cameras went off but he didn't care. Though he noticed that Mycroft's assistant Anthea had arrived, and was now showing her boss the pictures on her phone.

"Send that to Scotland Yard," nodded Mycroft.

"Mycroft!" screamed Sherlock, but John held him back, preventing him from breaking his neck on the stairs.

"Now now, boys, behave," Clotilde clapped her hands. "We have guests, and a wedding to attend. You can all have your little fight later. Sherlock go to your sister, she needs a bit calming down."

"And you send him?" huffed Freddie, looking up from playing with his self-designed high-tech camera.

"Jennie wants Sherlock," Clotilde shrugged. "Never argue with the bride."

John let Sherlock go, and walked over to where James stood with Victor's father and sister. The father looked just like Victor, only more grey hair. The sister was in her late twenties, very pretty with glasses, but dressed like someone in her fifties.

"John Watson," he shook their hands.

"Dave Trevor," said Victor's father, looking slightly uncomfortable. "My daughter Clemmie. She's the best man, oddly enough. But what is not odd about this wedding?"

The man looked a bit overwhelmed by the whole situation, but seemed to be holding it well together.

"I follow your blog," said the young woman excitedly. "I just knew you two were together! I knew it from the start with that case with that cab driver!"

"Thank you... "

John didn't really know what to do with himself. Had his admiration for Sherlock been so obvious? Even back then?

"Calm down, Clemmie," her father cleared her throat. "Please, excuse her."

"Dad, if you have to excuse someone, excuse mum who's too bigoted and cowardly to come here. I, on the other hand, can make my own excuses when I see them fit, which I don't in this case. We are basically family after today."

James laughed and Clemmie couldn't tare her eyes away from him until Freddie came and announced that the service was on the way. She looked a bit disappointed when James took Freddie's hand in his.


	15. Chapter fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The music seemed to get closer, and soon John recognised it as Sherlock's violin. He smiled at the sound of the beloved instrument.

They stepped out in the back garden where two rows with chairs was set up on the lawn. A small tent was put up in front as a miniature stage and decorated with flowers. Harry stood there waiting, dressed in a light blue dress, with a black folder in her hands.

Next to her was Victor. He seemed quite nervous but faced his father and sister an excited smile.

Mycroft was on the first row with his mother at his side, and his driver and Anthea were behind him. James sat down next to the driver, Pamela at his other side. Freddie had appointed himself photographer, and was moving around the setting with his ridiculous camera.

Dave sat down next to Clotilde, and Clemmie hurried to stand by her brother's side. John placed himself next to Pamela. She was wearing the exact same dress as Harry.

"It's quite a private affair really," he whispered to her. "I expected more people."

"The really big party isn't until the operation recovery is over," said Pamela in a low voice as light music began to play from the windows of the house. "Jennie needs to take it easy today. We talked it over in therapy."

"Wise," nodded John.

The music seemed to get closer, and soon John recognised it as Sherlock's violin. He smiled at the sound of the beloved instrument.

Sherlock played a soft melody, variating on the tones of the classical wedding march, probably his own arrangement. He walked slowly, sideways, from the back door towards the tent.

Then Jennie stepped out. John couldn't help but to think that she was, despite her natural broad shoulders and hormonally softened male facial features, one of the prettiest women he had ever seen. She had tears running down her cheeks, but her makeup was holding. Her dress was a white business suit, she a small pillbox hat with a small veil on her head, and a large bouquet of purple flowers in her hands.

Sherlock gave John a wink as he passed, John responded with a smile.

The music continued while Jennie reached Victor's side, then Sherlock placed the violin on a nearby chair for safekeeping. Jennie handed him her flowers.

John couldn't help himself but to take a photo with his phone. Sherlock gave him a scowl, but he seemed good natured. John totally expected a reprisal later, but he didn't care.

"Welcome," began Harry with a smile a the small company. "Today we will be joining Victor Henry Trevor and Jeannine Reginald Theresa Holmes in the loving union of marriage."

John thought it odd that Jennie had decided to keep such a male name as Reginald, but guessed they it had a special meaning. He had noticed Sherlock blink once at the mention of the name.

"The bride and groom have written their own vows, that they will now read then to each other," continued Harry.

Freddie closed in slightly with his camera as Clemmie handed him a yellow paper over to Victor, who smiled nervously.


	16. Chapter sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jennie, when I first met you, you where the third most intimidating man I ever met..."

"Jennie, when I first met you, you where the third most intimidating man I ever met..."

Jennie chuckled slightly, Sherlock and Mycroft shifted.

"... When I later started to work for you, you quickly moved up that list, and there was no person I respected more than you. There still isn't, because when you showed me your real self, albeit by accident..."

They giggled as they shared a private, and probably quite embarrassing, memory. Pamela wiped her eyes next to John.

"... I knew there could be no other person for me than you. Jennie, I promise to try to continue to uphold your standard, both professionally and in life, and if I ever slip up I know you will be there to guide me as the guiding light you are..."

Victor took a breath as his voice slightly cracked. Sherlock was looking at the flowers, his face completely neutral. Jennie leaned forward and gave Victor's cheek a quick kiss.

"... I love you," concluded Victor, his handsome face tearing up.

"Oh," Jennie took a breath and chuckled deeply, taking Victor's hands in hers. "I knew it was a mistake to let you go first... I'm not going to blame this on the hormones completely, only mostly..."

Victor laughed, and gently patted her wet cheeks with the handkerchief from his breast pocket. John felt a bit teary himself, but also felt a bit of worry tug at him as he glanced to Sherlock, who still looked lost in thought.

"Victor..." Jennie took another breath to collect herself. "When I first met you, and Sherlock will forgive me for saying it, I became extremely jealous of him. When I later got the chance to take you in my employment, I was happy just to be near you. I never thought..."

Her voice failed her again. John was almost shocked to see Anthea take the handkerchief offered to her by Mycroft and pat her eyes with it.

"... I would be so lucky, so happy. Victor, I promise that for all of the support you gave given me, I will give you more of it back to you. Your love have given me the strength to be the woman..." She laughed again and then shrugged. "...the woman I will become tomorrow."

Victor laughed and kissed her on the mouth.

"Please sign your names," said Harry, opening the black folder to reveal some sort of a contract there.

Both Victor and Jennie signed their names in turn, then Harry signed hers on the bottom.

"I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Holmes," said Harry, taking their joined hands between her own. "Love and hope to the end of your days."

James brought up a spontaneous applaud that the rest of them immediately took up. Sherlock gave Jennie back her flowers, but she immediately threw them right back at him.

"Share them with Freddie," she said.

Sherlock glanced at John and looked almost terrified. John just laughed.


	17. Chapter seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are a very interesting family," said James, emptying his glass.

John was sitting on the sofa in the parlour, feeling like his stomach was going to explode. The catered food had been delicious and he had eaten more than his fill. Since he was alone in the room he ventured to unclasp his belt, and then he popped open the button in his trousers.

It felt good, and John took a breath of relief. He pulled out his shirt to cover himself up, he wasn't planning in moving any time soon.

James entered the room with two glasses of champagne. He handed one of them to John and sat down next to him.

"Quite emotional wasn't it?"

"Yes," John noticed that James had one of the purple flowers from the bridal bouquet in his lapel.

"I have never really cared for champagne," said James frowning. "Too many bad memories."

"Is Harry drinking?" he asked, feeling like a hypocrite as he sipped his own glass.

"I think Pamela is keeping an eye on her," James took up his phone and gave it a quick look before putting it back in his pocket.

"Britain still standing?" asked John.

"As far as I can tell. But I'm just a foot soldier, you have to ask Mycroft for the details."

"I rather not."

"Wise choice."

They were interrupted by a familiar shout.

"Bored!"

Sherlock entered the room, something manic in his eyes. He huffed at the sight of John and James. With no word or apology he squeezed down in between them. It was lucky he was so thin.

"Sherlock!" growled John. "You are rude."

"I'm not the one sitting in my mother's parlour with my trousers open."

John grumbled, and chugged his champagne. He sighed.

"So who is Reginald? I noticed Jennie kept the male name."

"Our father," muttered Sherlock looking down at his hands. "Jennie was his favourite, so much that she didn't dare to come out until his funeral. As I said, it was a lovely dress. He bought it for her before he died. Seems he knew all along..."

John squeezed Sherlock's thigh.

"You are a very interesting family," said James, emptying his glass.

Sherlock looked like he just remembered that James was sitting pressed to his side. He smirked evilly as he turned to the agent.

"So, Mr. Bond, what are your intentions with my little brother?"

"Don't you already know?"

"Of course I do," Sherlock huffed and draped his long arm over John's shoulders. "But I have heard it is polite to make conversation."

"And you live by politeness," James grinned.

"I live by deduction," Sherlock leaned into John. "Politeness is just a convenient tool at times."

"I can see why you are Q's favourite."

"My brother has good taste, in some things."

"How about me?"

"Need more data," said Sherlock as his phone rang out from his pocket. "Let's do lunch," he smirked, and answered the phone. "Lestrade! Save me from thus hellhole! Give me something good!"

He jumped up from the sofa, listening intensely to the DI at the other end. John sighed and placed his glass on the table.

"That's my cue," said John getting to his feet, holding his trousers in place. "Time to change, pack, say good bye, and head home to London."

"So soon?" James was looking on as Sherlock almost danced across the room.

"Yes," John felt a surge of happiness and love go through him at the sight. "The game, my dear James, is afoot."

 

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, my friends. Thanks for sticking around :)  
> I have planned two more instalments in this series, though there are some other things demanding to be written first <3


End file.
